


Porfapproved Living

by TemenCMoth



Category: Drawfee
Genre: #BringBackPorfo, #TeamWillie, Gen, I'm Sorry, PorfoVerse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemenCMoth/pseuds/TemenCMoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Caldwell knew there was nothing to be done. This fate was inevitable, to be consumed by the monster he created. An odd sense of calm enveloped him as he was enveloped by this most magnificent of creatures he was party to empowering. </i><br/> <br/> </p><p>  <i>He presses "send" on his final tweet, and lets himself go. </i><br/> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>#thrallselfie #sorry</i></p><p> </p><p>A collection of glimpses into a world run by Porfo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buildup

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: [I WAS MENTIONED IN A DRAWFEE NIGHTS EPISODE!](https://youtu.be/0wOGkSiEtr4?t=12m45s) Hi if you're here from there! :^DDD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Aw man, I'm excited-- I thought I actually lost all of the work on this, but I was able to find it again! The next chapter is written, but I'll be releasing this in two parts because I'm just so excited to get it out there! 
> 
> This was written in Buffking era, so it's not completely up-to-date lore wise. 
> 
> Also, fun fact-- My middle name is Caldwell and I'm going to take a math final in 30 minutes. 
> 
> Please, enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**1\. Baby Baby Baby (Baby)**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Jacob's pen pushes through his paper, leaving a grey stain to be spread over the desk. He looks at the Porf-approved meal bar that was all but slammed on his desk, foil wrapper glinting under the fluorescents, catching a reflection of the navy sleeve of his uniform.

 

He sighs and grabs the bar, letting the crumbs fall over his ruined sketch. He glances at the printed flavor of the bar (can you really _compress_ spaghetti like that?) and the retreating figure dressed in a literary agent uniform placing bars on everyone's desks. He suppresses a sigh, knowing the art department is next on the meal rotation. His time's coming. He shoves the bar in his mouth.

 

He leans back in his chair, stopping a moment to digest and try to pinpoint where he went wrong with his poster draft. He gives up and rips out the page, the protest of the paper almost deafening. He balls the page into his fist, ignoring the way graphite migrates from hand to page. His hands itch for a tablet, for ctrl+z and erasers that cannot smudge like these 2-cent ones do, but "computers are only for approved designs" he murmurs to himself. He takes a swig from the coffee bottle he picked up that morning, hums along to a couple stanzas of the Fav Bois song playing in the background, and brings his pencil back to paper.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Caldwell knew there was nothing to be done. This fate was inevitable, to be consumed by the monster he created. An odd sense of calm enveloped him as he was enveloped by this most magnificent of creatures he was party to empowering.

 

He presses "send" on his final tweet, and lets himself go.

 

 

 

_#thrallselfie #sorry_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

Whispers still come from the places the world is thin, " _The King,_ " they chant, " _The King is gone._ " The court rejoices, the peasants weep, their echoes reverberating along empty alleys lined with Porfsters, the deserted stones the king walks. His footsteps echo heavily on the pavement, his presence complete in the empty street, smile curving more easily than it did in his days as a ruler. He hears whispers, hears rumors, and lets them be as he fills the world he belongs to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Giuseppe cries. He was a pain, they didn't get along but he was his brother, he was his brother and now he's gone, and now he's gone, now he's absorbed and he'll never they'll never _oh mama he's sorry_

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**2\. You Changed My Yesterday to Loveterday**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Jacob sighs and rips another page from his notebook. His fingers itch for a tablet, for a prompt more specific or imaginative than "handsome boy having fun with Porfo!" He reaches for his almost-empty coffee bottle, the third one today, only for it to escape his fingertips the moment they're meant to close around it.

 

In its place is a hand holding a silver porfapproved meal bar. He traces up the arm to see a droll smile on a face he's nearly immediately infuriated with.

 

"Oops" they say, pressing the bar into Jacob's still outstretched hand, closing his fingers around it. "You should really be less clumsy. You might knock off something important next time."

 

Jacob watches their back as they move on down the line of identical desks, messy hair free from the constraints of the mandated literary agent hat. He holds the bar a little too tightly, crushing whatever disgusting, food-like substitute is inside the wrapper. He leaves it on his desk unopened and mangled as he takes pen to paper, almost vindictively sketching a mop of messy hair in a traditional pose of thrall.

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Caldwell looks at their faces, all the beautiful teens that put up their #thrallselfies, knowing their smiles will be now hidden behind The Devourer. He can feel their lives curling around his spine, screaming fission in the hollow of his chest, weighing down his bloodstream with every beat of his overwrought heart.

 

 

What can he do, what could he do to absolve himself? How can you make penance for the death of thousands upon thousands of beautiful teens, cut like roses in their prime?

 

 

He hears the first notes of the first track of Porfo's solo album, the bassline soon resounding through the streets and making the foundations of his building shake. He grabs his phone and holds back a kiss to the photos on his walls. He knows what he must do.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

The King of Mirth, he is The King of Mirth!  
What a blessing to have revolutions,  
to keep Bad Kings out of power,  
so the people may be protected.

The King of Mirth, He says,  
"Call Me King Buffking,  
Call me what you wish, so long as you refrain  
from calling me late to dinner!"  
And the halls

Lace with Laughter and Glass

And Every Face

Is Happy

and we are protected

and the peasants aren't taxed as heavily,  
and they live under another king  
who keeps a snake  
at his ear  
to tell him  
just what he needsss  
to hear

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Pat opens his eyes as the powder brush's job is done. he blinks at the lights, takes a breath, and plasters a smarmy smile on his face.

 

"Faulty Love, scene 3, take 1." CLACK

 

He's the bad boy of tennis. He's _Pat Cassels_. He can do this. Even if Veronica is gone, he has some resistance left in him. He can serve up a last basket of laughs in this world.

 

The theme tune comes on, and he sets his jaw into stone happiness.

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**3\. I Want You and I (Together With Me)**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Jacob taps his fingers on the breakroom table, beat aimless, lunch bar gritty on the back of his teeth. The communal sink drips next to him, the steady plops boring into his head. He looked at the half-finished bar, pulls the foil over to protect his uneaten portion and moves to grab another coffee bottle.

 

He grabs a random bottle, letting the next fall in line (milk and sugar, otherwise it accentuates the omnipresent metallic tinge in Jacob's mouth) and when he turns around, his chair has a partner. Next to his seat is the literary guy who was on meal rotation last week.

 

He looks Jacob in the eyes, obviously anticipating his full attention. He smiles slowly, and swipes the bar off the table in one clean motion. Jacob doesn't (can't) move, and the guy's smirk turns turns into one closer to satisfaction. He pops up, moves to Jacob to pat him and the cheek, and says in a voice Jacob's surprised by (it's higher, for one, and definitely more) "I'm Willie."

 

 

 

 

 

Jacob's not sure what happened in the interim of that moment and his getting a new page, but his coffee is half-gone and he's sketching a messy head of hair almost vindictively.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Caldwell tips his head back onto the sofa. The material is cool at his neck. He breathes in, out. He breathes in, out.

 

"Caldwell," the doctor says, "how have you been feeling?"

 

He opens his eyes, sees the ceiling Porfster, closes them again.

 

"Alright," he lies, "I've been worse." He has, in the way some infinities are bigger than others.

He breathes in, out.

 

 

"You know it's not really your fault. There was no way you could've foreseen this." She is always so forgiving, so good (platative) with him. Her tone is clinical.

 

 

 

He breathes in, out.

 

He breathes in, out.

 

The clock ticks over another minute.

 

He breathes in, out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

"Do you know Zeus?" Asks the King, images flashing quickly across his mind. "From Hercules?"

The hairdresser smiles, silver scissors gleaming audibly, the shape moving towards their fingers. She is careful of the being within the beard, the one they are not to know of, the one who can be drawn forth with a fruit they do not know. Hairdressers know many secrets they can never tell. She is greeted with impressions happiness as she cuts and shapes correctly, when she touches his cheek.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Shy Nerd Girl trembles as she waits in the crowd, self-glittered posterboard shedding stars as she stands in the back. When the Fav Bois take the stage, her breath catches and her heart pitters in her chest when she sees him, Porfo, the baby but he's so cute, he's her _favorite_!

She holds up her sign and screams out her lungs in the off-chance it won't be lost among the many bouncing around the stadium. One time, one time she swears he looks _right at her_.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**4\. Tear My Tears**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Jacob walks down the aisle, unloading shiny meal bars along the desks in the literature department. He gets a couple of grunts and half-composed or aborted "thank-yous" in response. About halfway on route he stops.

 

 

Willie seems to be holding everything that's not attached to his desk close to his chest. The mass is barely contained, and the dam of his arms does a poor job of containing overflow. Jacob looks at the collection, then to Willie's face and Willie looks right back.

 

 

"I don't want you to knock all the stuff off my desk." He offers in explanation. "I know by now what a bully you are."

 

Jacob just holds his arm limply at this side, words evaporated by the fire in his throat. He lamely grabs a random bar and puts it on the emptied desk. He starts when Willie dumps everything he owns over it, chewed pencils skittering on the floor, then scribbles something on a notebook page. He tears it off, checks for onlookers, then hands it over to Jacob with a secretive wink.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Caldwell hums under his breath, head bobbing to the beat on the radio. He knows every beat of the song, can feel them like the cracks in his tile, like the curve of his spine: It is difficult to remove the emboss of what you crafted with so much care. He harmonizes with Trave over the squeak of a sponge on his favorite Porfplate.

 

Peace sneaks up on him, small moments that blanket him from the darkness that surrounds him. They are precious. They are few.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Metal clangs upon metal, striking again and again.

 

"My Lord," begs an advisor, "There is much to do-"

 

"More whey." Is the only response, metal clanging with more fervor. "More whey, more proteins, more mass, MORE!"

 

The King is so big already, standing so tall as to dwarf all others in his court, body completing impossibility in its form. The advisor's head feels deoxygenated just from the air in the room, and he bows out quickly.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Gregory Hamilton III awakened on a "Saturday" to a room of scientists, reporters and investors. His camera first picked up on a "fatherly" "face", and his voice synthesizer croaked out "Hello. My name is Gregory Hamilton." The face configures itself into a "smile," and the face says "I am REDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTED. It's wonderful to meet you."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there are any mistakes! The next part should be up in a week or so.
> 
> I'm sorry.


	2. Breakdown

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**5\. The Wind Blew Away (And So Did My Heart)**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Jacob tapped his pen on the bar, sharp sound dulled by the blank napkin in front of him. He sat in the bar, dingy, serving non-Porfproved goods, collecting those whom the beats would not leave. The absence of his Porfo button on the work shirt he's still wearing under his civilian jacket disturbs him, a strange vertigo and weightlessness like he pushed up from the ground and the world forgot to pull him all the way back down again. He makes a light line on the napkin, stops, and flips the napkin over to a blank side. He stares to the bottles in front of him, trying to find inspiration in the dim reflections kicking off chromatic glass bottles.

 

 

"Have you heard about the King?" Slurs a growth on an adjacent barstool. He and his companion have been boisterous all night, voices projecting to all corners of the bar.

 

 

"Blow it out yer ass." Says his friend. Jacob traces the outline of the sworls in the wood with the back of his pen. "Urban legends won't save ya."

 

 

"OH THE KING" screams the other, asynchronous to the Fav Bois song playing in the background, "OH THE KING HERE _TO DELIVER--_ " There's a crash and the singing voice morphs into groans. There was a peal of harsh drunken laughter, and his partner half-sang what was the last of the measure. The bottle on Jacob's napkin doesn't look half-bad.

 

 

A hand covers his flimsy canvas. Jacob traces up the arm to see ( _who else_ ) Willie. Willie pulls the paper towards himself, seems to inspects it carefully. He looks so in ease here, at this gathering of open defiance, that Jacob struggles to repin buttons and burgundy blazers to his chest. Willie smiles to him, and then shoves the drawing in his pocket. He turns to the bartender and taps a rhythm into the oak. "Two please!"

 

 

"Two what?"

 

 

"Wouldn't you like to know."

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Caldwell stares into his glass. In this place, a place too small and dirty for Porfo to care because he knows the people are broken, he is relieved for a moment. No Porfsters penetrate him, the base of His solos is dulled in the nonmetallic foundations. His glass contains only watered down amber liquid, promises of temporary absolution, baptism in alcoholism. He frowns at how drunk he must be to make these tortured metaphors. He used to be good at this kind of thing.

 

 

The two drunks are at it again, borderline rowdy. He is glad anyone can still find smiles, even when they are fronts for darker beings threatening to spill from their eyes. He takes a drink, letting the weak old beer overpower the taste of sludge in the back of his throat.

 

 

"OH THE KING!" Cries the blonde one, drink sloshing over his glass, droplets momentarily creating dim stars in the dark air of the bar. "Oh the king here to deliver us..." Caldwell joins and finishes under his breath. He knocks back his glass and signals for another. He hums a song from the before under his breath, because in this place he can.

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

 

The King sits in a booth, nursing what could charitably be called a flagon of room temperature ale. The court as it sits before him is comprised of cracking vinyl and condensation overlooking the initials and grooves carved deep into the kingdom of his table. He scratches at his beard, holding back a wince by the phantom twitches of overlarge muscles that cocooned him. He can hear from the thin wall behind his head the instruments of the court. He takes a sip of the thinned gold before him when he hears some speak of his deeds, his power. He does not look up when the drunks shout, the way the people shouted every night. He can hear a symphony play behind his head, through the thin walls that breathe here.

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

"TO TONY!" Andy shouts, bringing his glass higher. His hand trembles as he holds it above his head.

 

 

"THE GUY WHO NEVER DID IT!" Glasses ring against each other, spilling their contents over chipped edges.

 

 

"TO TONY!" Tony's friends echo. A collection of coworkers and other loves bring the bottom of their glasses to the sky.

 

 

"Here's one for the guy," says Andy, "who always knew when to #ScumpItDown." Liquid trickled onto the concrete floor. His shaking hand made the splash radius a little more unpredictable. "TO TONY!"

 

 

"TO TONY!"

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**6\. Come Into Me (Heart)**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Jacob's footsteps still when he reaches his desk. On the cheap particleboard is a computer with a rarely-used Cintiq hooked up to it, a stack of filled paperwork resting beneath. He takes the top memo with a fluttering gut.

 

 

 

 

  
**TO** : Jacob A, Art of Porfo; Outreach Division  
**CONCERNING** : Recent Youth Porfster Design

**GRANTED: FOR USE ON PROJECT**

**ONE (1)** Digital Tablet  
**ONE (1)** Digital Tablet Pen  
**ONE (1)** ART Computer Setup (See COMP MANUAL for Definition)  
**TWO (2)** Replacement Tablet Pen Nibs

ALL MATERIALS TO BE COLLECTED AT COMPLETION OF PROJECT  
REQUISITION FORMS FOR REPLACEMENT/MISSING PARTS AVAILABLE THROUGH SUPERVISOR

**ASSIGNMENT** : Develop submitted Porfster Draft (Included Below Form), Submit **THREE (3)** Options to Porverseer of ART Department, Await further instruction upon submission.

**HAVE FUN, SURRENDER YOURSELF TO PORFO**  
**RESISTANCE IS FUTILE**

 

 

 

He flips through the stack to see the Porfapproved draft. Willie's face looks over Jacob's shoulder, smile large and directed towards an undistinguished smartphone. His face is rendered imperfectly in the photocopied graphite (nose too small eyes too flat), but it is close enough to twist the fluttering upward until it becomes a burn in Jacob's chest. He sits himself in his still-gauzy chair, feeling censurable by the hand of someone he barely knows.

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Caldwell's world has been reduced to harsh breathing inside of his hands and the square foot the file occupied. His hands shake as he moves to open the folder.

 

 

"I'm sorry." The officer says. "We ran the DNA, dental records-- It's definitely Zave."

 

 

They take the folder towards themselves and assist Caldwell in moving the manilla covering out of the way. They replace it in front of him. Unearthed was a photograph, rendered in the unmistakable contrast brought about by flash photography at night, is his Fav. The shine of the blood, the thoroughness of the attack is prodigious.

 

 

"We understand that you two were close. His next of kin has been notified, but we wanted to talk to you in person." The soft clink of a coffee mug. "We were hoping you could tell us more about his life, shed some light on the whole situation." Caldwell closes his eyes and feels his head jump up and down. "We wanted to talk about people close to him, other members of the band perhaps. Anything you give us can be of use."

 

 

 

"What can you tell us about Porfo?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The Hall is silent. "My King," he begs, most of his voice engulfed by the weight of his empty crime, "My King--"

 

_Ssstay true to your promisesss_

 

The BuffKing holds up a hand. "My declarations were made clear to all." The Chic advisor winds itself closer. "All laughed but you."

 

"My king, I have been-- My King, I swear I--"

 

_Exemplify Him_

 

His hand was heavy with buffness as he gestured with an open hand to the man on his knees. He closed his fist, and guards descended. The people of the court looked straight ahead, not reacting to the symphony of struggles echoing from the high ceilings.

 

_The people (mussst will remember need know love) your ssstrength._

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Julia's hands move, keep moving, she cannot remember a time when they did not. Her wrists cry, her pained fingers beg for release but she is given no choice of stopping. She draws fantasies, nightmares kept best to formlessness under beds and hidden in the weave of Spanish Moss. She draws an awakening, a king, a creator, faces luckily indistinguished from any in the crowd. She draws immunity, fortuity, herself, chikenscratch notes, bleeding knees, attenuation, yearning and regretting.

 

She draws because she does not know anything else. To pass out, to sustain, to breathe, is to depict. She is prophecy. She is constructing as fast as she can. 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**7\. Devour Me, Devour You (Tru Luv Remix)**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

"Willie, Willie please-" Jacob grabs the sides of Willie's face, forcing eye contact. "Willie you can't go, you can't go to Porfo."

 

 

"I have to." Willie's grip is iron on his phone, a madness in his eye. "You have to let me go, you have to--" Jacob launches himself at Willie, pinning him to the ground. The force of it manages to knock the phone out of Willie's hands and Willie keens, high and distraught. He extends his arm as far towards it as it will go before Jacob pins his wrist to the ground, hard enough to bruise.

 

 

 

Jacob can feel the vibrations of Porfo's song through his kneecaps, rocking him to the center of his ribcage. Willie is so ready to surrender himself, he can see it in every line of his face like he was the one to put them there. He slaps his hands over Willie's ears and hums his favorite Fav Bois Song as emphatically as he can to distract himself from the well-crafted beats of the Porf. He can't let Willie go. Even though Willie is infuriating, he's the first real thing Jacob has seen since he was drafted. Willie gave him his first Porfapproved design. Willie is the first person I met who doesn't wear his buttons with pride or resignation, who just wants to go home, who tore down his ceiling Porfster, Willie you can't go, Willie you _can't go you can't just fucking leave like this_

 

 

Jacob is still echoing the chorus to You and I when he feels spindly fingers cover his. Through his vision twice blurred (his glasses fell off in the struggle, the thrall calls are always emotional), he sees the blurred outline of Willie collect Jacob's hands and move them so they're situated in his own.

 

 

"I'm okay now." Willie says in a faint voice. "I'm Okay."

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You answered!" Dave's voice sounds like a great relief in a field of panic. And a little much like Zave.

 

 

"Zave-- Dave-- What?"

 

 

"Listen," Zave's voice is a harsh whisper through the tinny speakers, "You need to hide. He's already got Dave, you need to--" A crash.

 

 

"Zave, what happened?" Calwell sits up in his bed, far more alert. He had been slightly blinded by the light, and his missing sight was now filled by alarm. "Do you need help? Where are y--"

 

 

"There's no time, there's no time, Porfo is already--" A loud slurping sound approaches from the distance. Zave gave a sob. "Caldy, I'm-- Thank you for everything. It was fun while it lasted." The wet crunching sound gets closer, horrifying and petrifying, before all that's left on the speaker is white noise that drifts into a dial tone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

The world is spinning, the sensation of sinew wrenching itself from bone a red-hot present. Around him is a street lined with faces, happy faces, looking to him and away, laughing, real and not, every inch at eye level is another person, why is here here he _thought he got_

 

He slaps a hand onto one of the many faces and empties his fear and gut onto the empty pavement. His fist curls into itself, ripping the stylish face beneath it. The streets shake with a strange rhythm, but his agony is a louder orator than any outside source could ever be. He rests his forehead against the cool paper-covered brick, questioning if he is home.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The monster's beetle eyes open, glinting black in the dim light of the cave. The tentacles covering his back begin to undulate, loosening themselves from the body. His rider opens his eyes, limbs beginning to blow in an unearthly wind. His feet climb over the rocks, toward the star that causes the eyes to cower. He is awaking, and soon his other forms will emerge.

 

Porfo is Ready. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**8\. Goodbye My Lovely Lullabye (For Now)**  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Jacob lets himself feel his chest expand as he surveys the backlit red of his eyelids. He shifts, allowing the rough material of Willie's sofa to burn his exposed arms. The smell of non-Porfapproved coffee filtered from the kitchen, where Jacob could hear Willie clanging around.

 

He let himself sink into the cushion when he heard Willie's bare feet pad over to the sofa. "I know you're awake." He says.

 

"I'm pretty sure I'm still asleep." Jacob replies. Jacob feels cold ceramic press into his forehead and the bridge of his nose. His eyes open in surprise and he scrambles to catch the mug before it breaks onto the floor. He hears Willie's voice drifting back into the kitchen as his eyes adjust to the morning light filtering in through the blinds.

 

"I made a pot, so if you want coffee you're going to have to come in here and make your own."

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Caldwell took a long swig from his mug. He looked to the faces of the kids in front of him, taking a little time to get to know each other. The three of them shoot out a quick chord, and Caldwell gets a golden feeling in his chest.

 

 

The door opens, and the air is silent as a smaller figure peeks its head in the door. Caldwell puts the mug down and goes to greet them.

 

 

When he gets to him, he extends his hand to shake. The kid's hand is much smaller and colder than the other's were. "Porfo, right?" He smiles down at the him. "I'm glad we get to work with you! I've heard only good things about you." Porfo doesn't remove his hand, but his chubby cheeks curve around a smile. Caldwell laughed and moved back. "That's what we're looking for! Keep on that smile and we'll have all the tweens swooning."

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

Nathan sat on a bench, waiting for the bus. He holds some tea in his hands, a small glow that keeps his hands from freezing. He watches the cafe across the street through sleepy eyes, and someone drops a mug. The liquid seeps through the tiles on the pavement, working their way to the street drain. Nathan takes a sip of his own drink, watching the snow begin to fall. For all the cold, it's not a bad day.

 

 

He thinks he hears someone shout his name, but no one is there. The bus pulls up and he gets on board.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

"Shit!"

 

"Alfons, did you do it again? Get a pen cup man."

 

"I like how happy this one is." Alfons pulled his tablet pen out of his coffee mug. "There wasn't much in there! It's fine."

 

"If you say so."

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HERE! This one is a little longer, haha! I kind of rushed this out to meet my week deadline, so I might go back and edit a little. Nothing big, just prettying it up a lil.
> 
> Fun Fact: There's a lot of alt text in this part! Check out Julia's section, it is rife with that HTML magic. EDIT: The site formatted a lot of it weirdly-- It should be fixed now!
> 
> Oh man, this has been a lot of fun. I actually have some snippets that didn't work with the pacing, or are placed after this era in drawfee lore. I might put them up one day. Maybe. 
> 
> I realize I got away from the lore in a couple of places, but I wrote this originally without reference, so I hope it's excusable!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you had as much fun as I did. 
> 
> Remember, Surrender yourself to Porfo!  
> #PorfoIsBae!

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone gets confused, timelines are thus: Jacob and Wille's go forward, Caldwell's goes backwards, and Nathan/The Guest's are random.
> 
> I'm sorry.


End file.
